Where the Story Ends
by That'sSusanToYou
Summary: You never know what you have until it's gone; but sometimes, all it takes is a party, a little Christmas spirit and some figgy pudding of course. ONESHOT


Happy Christmas everyone =] This just a small oneshot inspired by the holiday season. Huge thanks to my Beta who edited and this story is for her (I LOVE YOUU SHRUUUUSSSSSS. YOU ROCK.)

Note: Story is not Deathly Hallows compliant. The title comes from a song by the Fray "Where the story ends"

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or have any rights to the Harry Potter franchise. Sadly.

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"That's a perfectly reasonable question, seeing as we _all_ know you were pressured into a job at the ministry."

"That's not true!" she cried. He gave her a look to which she replied, "It wasn't as if I was forced to work here. And I like it here! Besides, I didn't know what I wanted to do then and they gave me a great opportunity; I would have been daft to reject it."

He took a bite of his lasagna. "That doesn't answer my question, Granger."

She looked up thoughtfully, trying to ignore his refusal to acknowledge her first name. "Fine, if I didn't work in the ministry, I would have, perhaps, worked in St. Mungo's as a healer."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and Hermione shrugged. "I was really good at potions and charms in school. I'd always considered it as an option."

He pointed at her with his fork. "You should; you're wasting away in this place. Although then," he added, "lunch would be a lot more tedious."

Hermione looked down, a blush creeping to her cheeks. "That's not true, Draco, you would still have Blaise."

Draco snorted. "Blaise doesn't eat lunch; he drinks."

"Harry, then?"

He shook his head. "He's head Auror; whatever time he gets off, he spends with Weaslette."

"Ron?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be foolish, Granger. I'd rather eat with a pack of hippogriffs; and that's saying something, coming from me."

She flinched when he said her name. "Well, it doesn't matter; I'm not going to St. Mungo's anyway. Now the same question for you."

"If I wasn't working as an Auror, I'd be in Azkaban."

Hermione's fork clumsily landed with a clatter on her plate. She shifted in her seat and looked down pointedly at the salad she had been picking at for twenty minutes.

He smirked at her demeanor. "I'm living the dream; instead of actually being in prison, I'm throwing people in there. Look at me now, sitting in the pitiful cafeteria of the Ministry of Magic, enjoying what is arguably known as lunch here, and somewhat content."

"You wouldn't have gone to Azkaban, Draco; you switched sides. That's what counts." Hermione told him, to which he simply shrugged. "It's true!" she protested.

"We've had this conversation too many times, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes.

"You're a _good person_, Draco, and you know it. You made some mistakes and bad choices, but also one right one which changed everybody's lives for the better."

"Don't be melodramatic, Gra–"

"You're too blinded by your Slytherin past to see the kind of person that you are–and don't tell me I'm naïve!" she pointed a finger at his bored face. "You know for a fact that I would never have forgiven you if I didn't honestly believe you had turned over a new leaf."

He smirked at this. "No offense, Granger, but you're a _terrible _judge of character." She huffed at this and leaned back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. He didn't let her speak though. "Don't deny it; it's the truth. You're too consumed in the idea that people deserve second chances and there is good in everyone." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Bu–"

"I have news for you, Granger; nobody–not even your Saint Potter or that old coot Dumbledore–_nobody _is good." His tone was harsh and made her recoil slightly.

He was stubborn, but so was she. Their arguments always continued on into the early hours until one of them would get tired and simply fall asleep. Their discussions would jump from subject to subject, and an outsider would find it quite difficult to follow, but never once did the both of them lose track. Hermione found Draco's thoughts infuriating, one-sided, male chauvinistic, and sometimes downright _outrageous_; butshe loved it.

His mocking smirk, his confident stride, his puzzling mysterious thoughts, how he could never admit he was wrong even when they both knew he was and the way he flustered her and made her want to pull her own hair out; she loved _all _of it. He was the only one who could ever hold an intelligent conversation with her and who could deal with her intense and hysterical behavior when she became passionate.

It had been years since she had stopped struggling with herself and come to terms with what she felt; an emotion she still could not put into words. Since then, she had been trying to solve the puzzle named Draco Malfoy with no success. But if Hermione Granger was one thing, it was persistent.

"So, the Malfoy Christmas ball is in two weeks." Hermione changed the subject in a high voice, trying to make it casual. "Excited?"

"Hardly," he sneered. "Mother has been driving me insane asking for my opinion on things that don't matter. Merlin knows the difference between fifty shades of _beige _that are to be used for the candle _wicks_, or something."

Hermione smiled. "Your mother's delightful."

"Alright, alright," he rolled his eyes. "I know; you love her, and she loves you. It's a _beautiful_ relationship." He sighed and muttered. "She wants me to bring a _proper_ date."

Hermione felt her heart quicken and her stomach do a little flip. "So who are you going to bring?"

Draco smirked. "To hell with what she says; I'll just do what I do every year. I'll take some random witch with a low self-esteem so I can get her sloshed by the end of the night and–"

"Yes, I know what you do," she cut him off sharply. Hermione began stabbing at her salad in an unnaturally vicious manner. "I'm sure you and the _lucky damsel_ will have a splendid evening." She spoke through gritted teeth.

He leaned back against his chair, oblivious to her sudden change in conduct. "It should make to be a _fine_ night. I think I already have someone in mind," he trailed off.

Hermione put her fork down on the tray forcefully, unable to hide the anger in her eyes any longer. Draco was snapped out of his reverie at the sound of the chair dragging against the floor. Hermione stood up quickly and began walking away from him.

Perplexed, Draco called out to her. "What is the matter with you, Granger?"

It was as if something inside of her exploded as she turned around and snapped. "It's _Hermione_!"

She stalked off, not staying around to catch a glimpse of Draco's mystified expression.

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Hermione slammed the door of her office, making her secretary jump, and with a flick of her wand, shut the blinds. She threw her bag down on the chair and took off her new heels which were giving her blisters.

Pacing back on forth in front of her desk, Hermione pulled her hair out of the ponytail it had been tamed into, letting it go back to its wild form. _Everything_; she had done _everything._ But she was always just _Granger._ Just the person who would listen to him rattle on about his sleazy conquests and pull him out of the mess he landed himself in _every single Christmas_. It had been the same for the past six years.

She threw herself down on the couch and buried her head in her hands. How much longer was she supposed to take this?

She heard her door open slowly.

"The door and blinds were shut for a reason," she said with a groan.

"Your secretary called me, Hermione." She looked up to see Harry with a concerned look on his face. "She said you looked terribly upset. Is everything alright?" He shut the door behind him and sat down next to her on the couch.

"Does it _look_ like everything's alright, Harry?" she spat at him. "I'm so sick of this; I'm so sick of _him_!"

"Oh," he realized uncomfortably. "Malfoy?"

"What have we done every Christmas for the past six years, Harry?"

"Uh, we drink and dance the night away at the Malfoy Ball on Christmas Eve, and spend Christmas day at the Burrow?" he said uncertainly.

"No, Harry, that's what _you_ do. What _I _do is pathetically sit by and watch while Draco gets some slag sloshed and takes her upstairs. Then, he comes back down when people are leaving and has a fight with his mother in the library at which point they both get dreadfully upset and he heads to the garden, _drinking _like there's _no_ tomorrow. I sit with him, keep his wand with me so he doesn't do something drastic, and comfort him when he begins to drone on about how Lucius was. When he passes out, which is around three in the morning, I take him to his bed and go home. Then I arrive late at the Burrow _every_ Christmas because I am too busy nursing his _hangover_!"

Harry stared at her as she stood up; her rage now seemed uncontrollable.

"_That_ is what I do. _Every Christmas._" She felt her eyes become a little blurry put she pushed away the tears. "But not anymore." Her voice was now grave.

"D-do you want me to ask Ginny to come here and ta–"

"No, Harry." She interrupted him, a strange look of determination on her face. "I've decided what it is I have to do now. I'm giving up."

Harry had never believed those words would come out of Hermione Granger's mouth. "Hermione," he said soothingly. "Maybe he just needs more _time_."

"He's had all the time in the world; I've been nothing but patient. But I'm done with this. I'm going to have a fresh start and he will merely be a thing of the past."

"What do you mean a fresh start?"

There was a new twinkle in her eyes as she picked up her bag and slipped on her heels.

"Where are you going?" Harry walked behind her, struggling to keep up with her pace. She stepped into the lift and looked at him.

"St. Mungo's."

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With a flick of her wand, the framed certificates, paintings and photos began flying off the wall and piling themselves carefully in the box. She picked up the pictures on her desk and began placing them in too. The first one was of her parents, then of her with Harry and Ron, and the last one of her with Draco.

It was taken during the celebration at the end of the war when they had all gotten somewhat inebriated; which explained Draco's arm wrapped around Hermione's laughing form. Both of them held a drink in their hands, looking quite carefree.

She stared at the photo longingly for a long time until a voice from behind her interrupted her thoughts.

"Figured you would have left by now,"

Her teeth clenched together and she shoved the picture into the box with a lot more force than usual. She still didn't turn around to face him, putting in the last paperweight on her desk in as well. The room was entirely empty now, as it had been six years ago when she had first come in.

Hermione took a deep breath before answering, "Just packing my last box." She folded down the top flaps of the box before lifting it and turning around.

He stood, casually leaning against her doorframe with his hands buried in his pockets. His gray eyes met her brown orbs in a piercing gaze, and she nearly lost all her will to leave. Feeling her knees go weak, she forced herself to look away and begin walking out.

To her dismay, Draco followed, shutting the door to the office behind him. She pushed her legs to walk faster, but his long limbs easily kept up with her.

"Do you need some help with that?" he pointed to the box she was holding.

Without looking at him, she replied, "I'm perfectly capable." But his gesture made her insides twist. _Why was she leaving again?_

"By all means," he drawled. "I was just being polite; I wasn't _actually_ going to hold it."

_Right; this was why._ She remembered and rolled her eyes. When the lift came, she stepped inside, turning around to say a quick goodbye, only to see that he had walked in with her.

"No work to do?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's my lunch break." He shrugged. "Besides, I don't have anyone to eat with now, do I?"

Her stomach felt like it had dropped on the ground. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and looked away from him, praying for the lift to move faster. Instead, the lift decided to stop with a jerk on level two, allowing more people in; Hermione groaned internally.

"You haven't been here during lunch for the past week either." He noted. Hermione simply shrugged, choosing to leave out the fact that she would run out at 12:25, precisely five minutes before his break and floo to Diagon Alley to have lunch with Ginny instead. Ginny hadn't agreed with Hermione's decision to join St. Mungo's, or rather her motive behind the decision, but supported her nonetheless.

"But good on you, Granger." Draco said. "Your potential was being wasted here, and I'm glad you decided to go with my suggestion."

She snorted. "_Your _suggestion?"

"I take you back to our conversation at lunch a week ago." He stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She shook her head. "I had been thinking about this for a long time; you just reminded me of it."

They stepped out together at level one, Draco smirking. "Well then, if it weren't for me, you would still be up in your office now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I really would." She muttered. Hermione walked to the large desk at the front of the ministry. Placing the box on the counter, she pulled her keys out from her pocket. "I need to return the key to my office."

A shy, young girl took the key from her hand. "Thank you, Ms. Granger. Is there anyone else who has a copy of the key?"

"Yes; Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley. _Ronald _Weasley."

"Okay, can I ask you to wait a few minutes while I send someone to collect them, please?" Hermione nodded. Draco stood next to her, his elbow leaning on the counter.

"You gave _them _a copy of your key?" he asked her skeptically.

"It was for emergencies." She told him.

"Like what? They're all out of intelligence?"

"Shut up, Draco." She reprimanded, but still found herself chuckling. How did he do this to her? Everything he said was incredibly insulting, but at the same time, so amusing.

"I have to go, Granger," said Draco. She nodded and continued looking ahead, waiting for him to leave; he stood there longer in silence. "I'll see you next week at the ball, then?"

She had been dreading this; him asking. Was she strong enough to do this? Her eyes stayed glued to her drumming fingers on the counter. "I don't think I'll be going to that." She said simply.

Draco stared at her with an indiscernible expression on his face; this quickly changed to one of irritation. "I don't understand what your _problem_ isGranger!" He slammed his hands on the counter. "You've been acting so peculiar lately; first with stalking off in the _middle_ of lunch out of _nowhere,_ avoiding me for the past _week_, and now _this_!"

Hermione chose not to say anything. She turned her head away as she felt tears beginning to surface. But he wouldn't let her; Draco grabbed her arm a little roughly and spun her around to face him.

"So why the sudden refusal to attend the ball?" he asked her, his eyes derisive.

She put on a cold mask and replied in the same tone. "I'm just not in the mood for holiday cheer this year." He let go of her arm and leaned both elbows on the counter once again.

"Fine; see if I care." He spat at her.

Silence passed between them until the receptionist returned holding three keys in her hand. "Okay, Ms. Granger, the keys have been collected. Is there any other copy?"

Hermione opened her mouth to say no, but Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, placing it on the counter and pushing it towards the receptionist.

Hermione watched, gaping; she had never given him a key. She looked at him with wide eyes and a frown. He shrugged.

"It was for emergencies." He said right before turning around and walking away from Hermione, who continued staring, shocked.

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"Can't get a bloody break from that witch," Ron muttered angrily. The words of 'A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love' flowed through the hall. "First Mum and now _Malfoy_; Merlin knows what is so great about _Celestina Warbeck_."

Harry chuckled and took a sip from his glass. Waiters weaved in and out between the guests holding trays of drinks and exotic snacks.

"Figgy pudding? It's quite delightful." The waiter pushed the tray forward towards them, nearly thrusting it into their noses. Harry and Ron both shook their heads, taking a defensive step backwards from the unsettling waiter.

"Where's Ginny?" Ron asked.

"Uh," Harry scratched the back of his neck. "She's over at Hermione's trying to convince her to come."

Ron snorted. "Good luck. Hermione can be bloody stubborn when she wants to be." Ron frowned. "Why doesn't Hermione want to come, anyway? She comes every year."

"She–" Harry stumbled, unable to think of an excuse. "She's just not in the mood."

Since Malfoy came into the picture, Ron and Hermione had become as they were in sixth year. When Malfoy switched to their side to help them, Ron grew to be distant and cold. Finally, when Hermione could no longer stand it, she confronted him. There was a big row which ended with a well-aimed hex from her wand, sending Ron flying into the wall. Hermione had stalked off and refused to speak to him for nearly a week until he reluctantly apologized; they had continued with a tense relationship which didn't ease even after the war.

"I was actually hoping that I could talk to her tonight." Ron slipped in casually.

Harry raised his eyebrows; the question was clear in his eyes. Ron shrugged.

"It's Christmas, and I've been thinking for a long time that–" Ron looked upwards, thoughtful. "I never quite knew how to–" He stopped again, thinking. "I miss her."

Harry frowned into his glass for a moment before comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, you want to–"Harry scratched his head uncomfortably and Ron shifted his weight from one foot to another. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Ron."

"Why not?" He protested.

"Hermione's," Harry trailed off, "going through something. I think it's best if you wait a bit longer."

"But it's Christmas!" said Ron. "It's the perfect time."

"Right, but–"

"I did it!" Ginny came towards them and slipped her arm around Harry's waist.

"Really?" Harry asked in shock. "How?"

Ginny smiled triumphantly. "That doesn't matter, but she should be here in about ten minutes."

"Excellent," Ron grinned, much to Ginny's confusion.

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"Figgy pudding?" the tray was shoved into his face.

"No," he snapped and pushed the tray back towards the inapt waiter, who stumbled backwards a bit. The waiter turned to Blaise who took a plate off the tray before he could say anything.

"There is something seriously wrong with that waiter," said Blaise, taking a bite of the pudding, "but something incredibly right with this figgy pudding."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "How many of those have you had?"

Blaise waved him away. "That's irrelevant. Now tell me, why is it that you're here with me tonight and not pushing drinks into some unsuspecting witch's hands?"

Draco shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "Wasn't in the mood tonight," he said simply.

"Of course not; Granger's not here."

He had stated it as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world. Draco stared at Blaise as if he just witnessed hippogriffs galloping out his ears.

He chuckled and shook his head. "You really _have _had one too many figgy puddings, Zabini."

"No I haven't, and _no,_ I'm not being ridiculous." Blaise said tiredly. "How many Christmas parties are there going to be before you stop being an oblivious prick?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"_Yes_ you do. Draco, you're both practically _married_." Blaise rolled his eyes.

Draco nearly spit his drink out. "What in the name of Merlin ar–"

"You eat lunch together every day."

"I don't like eating alone."

"Yes you do," said Blaise. "Narcissa has to drag you to the dining room to eat with her. Let me finish," he said as Draco tried to interject. "You had a key to her office."

"It was for emergencies."

"That's dragon dung." Blaise put down his plate of pudding and turned to Draco. "Alright, I'd like to see you explain this; you sleep over at her apartment."

"She has a comfortable sofa."

"_Shut up._" Blaise resisted taking the glass from his hand and tossing the drink in his face. "If it's any consolation, she's obsessed with you as well."

"I am _not _obsessed with Hermione Granger."

"Well I would say _obsessed_ is a bit strong of a word, but yes you are, dear." The voice of Narcissa Malfoy joined them. "Well you're looking quite dashing tonight Mr. Zabini." She smiled fondly towards Blaise.

"Always the best for you, Mrs. Malfoy," He smirked back flirtatiously. "I was just convincing your stubborn son here that he's not enjoying himself tonight due to Ms. Granger's absence."

"Now what have you done to antagonize that charming woman?" Narcissa chastised her son. "She's a delight and a perfect match for you."

"_I_ didn't do anything! I don't know what's come over her; she suddenly left her job and stopped coming for lunch. Then she claims she's not in the mood for _holiday cheer_ this year and refuses to come!"

Narcissa and Blaise both shook their heads disappointedly. "He's finally done it," said Narcissa. "She couldn't take it anymore; I knew it was a matter of time! She's an intelligent witch who knows a lost cause when she sees one–"

"You're both mental." Draco said loudly over his mother's voice. He opened his mouth to speak again but his eyes focused on something else at the large doors of the hall.

She was wearing a strapless white dress (E/N: I HAVE THIS DRESS, YAY!) which hugged her curves and flowed down to just above her knees. Her hair was up in an elegant twist with a few tendrils falling out, framing her delicate features. Draco couldn't remember a time when Hermione had looked more beautiful.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, resting on someone at a distance; she began walking through the throng of guests. His eyes followed her as she squeezed through people and stopped to chat with a few.

There was a pat on his back; Draco turned around to see Blaise smirking and Narcissa smiling in a fond motherly way.

"You do what you want to, mate." Blaise shrugged and held out his elbow which Narcissa took a hold of. They both walked off laughing about something.

Draco swallowed the last of his drink in a large gulp and made his way through the mass.

He stopped right in front of her, making her jump and take a step back. Her eyes which were wide with surprise narrowed; she stuck her chin out.

"I thought you weren't coming." He said to her, his head cocking to the side.

"I thought you didn't care." She replied in the same icy tone.

Something in his chest jumped, quickening his heartbeat. He couldn't explain it, but he suddenly felt his palms break into a cold sweat; he shoved his hands into his pocket.

"I'm glad you came." It slipped out before he could restrain himself. He noticed her face soften momentarily before she clenched her teeth once again.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," she pushed past him and walked more rapidly, only to be interrupted by the aggressive waiter shoving figgy pudding in her face. She politely pushed him away, and continued walking.

What was that uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach? Why did he feel like laughing and shouting at the same time?

"_You're both practically married,"_

Stupid Blaise; he was feeding his mind with unnecessary and foolish thoughts. But all Draco could think about was the light in her hazel orbs when she laughed, the way she bit her lip when she was thinking, the flush in her face and her flaring nostrils when she was angry.

He had botched up. Badly.

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"I was wondering if I could talk to you, Hermione."

Her face broke out into a confused smile. "Sure, Ron."

He glanced around at Fred and George who were having an animated discussion with a very overwhelmed Harry, and Ginny who was nodding thoughtfully at something Luna was saying. "Can we go somewhere private?"

Hermione frowned. "Sure," she said slowly. With a slightly bitter tone, she replied, "The garden's lovely, let's go there."

"Right, brilliant," Ron clapped his hands together. "Lead the way." He said, a little breathlessly. Bewildered, Hermione began walking to the back doors which led to the garden, Ron trailing behind, looking more nervous than ever.

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"Not so fast," a hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving forward. Blaise pulled him back slightly. "You look like a madman; pull yourself together."

"I don't look _remotely_ mad." Draco said dryly, pushing his hand off his shoulder.

"You're right, that was a lie; but do you even have a plan? Or do you just intend to ambush the poor woman?"

Draco just stared; what _had _he been planning to do? Hermione was clearly upset with him, so that would be an obstacle. Not to mention he had no idea exactly what he was going to say; what _was_ this anyway?

"Exactly," Blaise said triumphantly. Draco took a deep breath and his eyes grew wide; this was ridiculous. What was he doing? He was ruining one of the only real friendships he had ever had. "No, mate; don't panic. Here," Blaise snatched a plate off of the tray of a waiter who was walking past. "Have a figgy pudding."

"I don't want your bloody figgy pudding!"

"Trust me, Draco; it helps." He pushed the plate into his hands. "Now, she's not expecting a proposal of marriage or anything of that sort."

"Then what _is_ she expecti–"

"I don't know." Draco glared at his best friend. "I'm just being honest here, mate. Just eat the pudding, and then go to her. When you see her, you'll know exactly what to say."

Draco put a spoonful of the pudding into his mouth and immediately relaxed from the familiar sweet taste. He looked suspiciously at Blaise.

"When did you become so wise?"

"I have my moments." Blaise smirked. "I saw Granger heading to the garden; it might take you a while to find her in that massive place, but that will give you time to calm down and finish your pudding."

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed the plate of figgy pudding back into his friend's hands. "I know exactly where she will be."

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The night was beautiful, with a full moon out, and Christmas lights shone in the Malfoy Manor's garden with bunches of Mistletoe floating in the air.

Draco walked with his hands buried in his pockets, pondering over what Blaise had said.

"_If it's any consolation, she's obsessed with you as well."_

How had he missed the signs? The prolonged glances, the lingering touch; it was all becoming quite clear at that precise moment. But instead of being frightened, there was a new excitement within him; a warmth in his chest.

He knew she would be at the bench across from the fountain, where they sat every year, at Christmas. But this Christmas would be different, he was sure of it.

As Draco reached one side of the fountain, he climbed onto the rim and walked carefully, as she always loved to do. Her arms would reach out on either side of her, keeping her balance; the moment she would begin to stumble, she would put a hand on his shoulder to stop from falling.

Still on the rim, he walked around towards where the bench was, more than ten meters away from the fountain. But as Draco was about to jump down from the edge, he froze.

"_She couldn't take it anymore; I knew it was a matter of time! She's an intelligent witch who knows a lost cause when she sees one,"_

Hermione sat on that bench, but she wasn't alone. _It was Weasel._ His hand moved to cover hers, which rested on her knee. Draco felt his blood boil in his veins as Weasley gently began leaning his head towards hers; but she turned her face away from him.

Maybe it was the anger, or the shock, or perhaps just the sugar from the figgy pudding, but Draco stumbled backwards slightly, and took a step to regain balance, only to realize he was still standing at the edge of a fountain.

His body broke through the icy surface with a loud splash, and his back hit the floor painfully. Pulling his head out of the water, Draco gasped and sputtered, his eyes wide and his hair plastered to his face. Wiping the water from his eyes, he noticed a figure in white running towards him; it was Hermione.

"Draco! Are you alright?" she asked hysterically. He didn't reply and continued to take gape like a fool at her. "What on _earth_ are you doing?"

Weasley had come up behind her as well, a look of immense amusement in his eyes.

"Looking quite fit, Malfoy," he sneered.

"Ron, go inside." Hermione said in a tone that most knew not to object to. "_Go_!" She said again when he didn't move. With his hands in his pockets, Ron slowly walked towards the mansion, pausing to turn around and smirk at the sight of Draco in the fountain once again.

Draco decided it was probably time to lift himself out of the water. Hermione held her hand out towards him, but he simply stared at it as if it was going to combust at his touch; he chose to push himself out instead.

Dripping wet, he stepped out of the fountain, teeth chattering. Hermione pulled out her wand and wordlessly dried him off in less than a second.

"I can do that." He snapped at her. She stared at him with malice and he mirrored the look. "Don't let me interrupt your precious moment with _Weasel_."

Her expression turned to one of astonishment. "What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing," he said in a low voice.

As he began walking away, she grabbed his arm roughly and turned him around. "Just say what it is you want to, Draco."

"It doesn't matter anymore!" he thundered. "It doesn't matter because _you_ have already seemed to make a very _clear_ decision!"

"What?" Her face flushed angrily. "Don't you _dare_ make yourself a victim in this Draco Malfoy–"

"Fine!" He pushed her hand off his arm forcefully. "I guess I've _always _been just a little late."

With one last fiery look, Draco walked off, back into the party.

**DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG****DMHG**

It was quiet once again in Malfoy Manor as the guests slowly made their way home from a night of eggnog, mistletoe, and figgy pudding. Draco stood at his balcony, sipping on his firewhisky and staring at the stars.

"Hey," a voice from behind him pulled him out of his stupor.

He didn't answer, choosing instead to finish his drink and pour himself another.

"It was a nice party." She commented casually, standing next to him and staring out at the sky.

"Where's _Weasel_?" he sneered.

She sighed. "I don't know." Hermione turned to look at him. "And I don't _care_."

Draco turned to meet her brown eyes with his gray ones; they stayed staring like that for a long time, unable to look away.

Hermione was the first to break the glance; she looked upwards at the mistletoe which had begun to form above them. Draco followed her gaze and felt himself put his glass on the table.

"Mistletoe," she whispered, as she took a step closer to him.

Draco leaned his head down to hers and gently touched his lips to hers. He suddenly remembered to breathe again when he felt her mouth move against his tenderly.

It was over much sooner than he wanted it to be; she tasted sweeter than he could ever have imagined. They stood with their noses brushing lightly and their eyes still shut. She moved back and began walking to the door, pausing to turn with her hand on the doorknob.

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

He didn't turn, but heard the door shut behind him. Yes; it was a happy Christmas indeed.


End file.
